Moments
by Paralyzing Kings
Summary: A telling of just that; moments between the renegade Prince of Albion and the roguish Captain of the Royal Army. (PrincexBen Finn)
1. Chapter 1

Just like my other works, 'Moments' will simply be a test story. It depicts moments of the Prince's life with Ben Finn, and entries may or may not be in chronological order, and may or may not be related to one another. Some may vary entirely from the Fable III storyline. This story will also contain malexmale relationships. If that isn't your cup of tea, kindly hit the 'back' button and find something more suitable to your tastes. To those who don't mind, please enjoy!

More notes will follow.

Disclaimer: Fable I, II, and III, their associated characters, and locations belong to Lionhead Studios. I am in no way making a profit from this writing, other than gaining satisfaction from hopefully improving my skills as a would-be author.

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One -

At first glance, the Prince hadn't thought much about the soldier that was Benjamin Finn. The blonde was positively arrogant, somewhat lewd, and far too cocky regarding his abilities with a firearm for Tristan's liking. That shit-eating grin, those soul-searching blue eyes, and that messy mop of blonde hair that desperately needed a brushing all visibly encompassed the complicated man that Ben made up. The bloodstained uniform, the lax personality... Needless to say, he was the epitome of _different_ from the Prince himself. He was everything that the Prince had been raised _not_ to be.

(A few years down the line from the very moment, settled in the warmth of the royal study by the roaring fireplace during a winter's snowstorm, Tristan would pause from the novel that had grasped his attention and tell the said man this very thing. Ben would laugh beneath his breath, a breathy chuckle, still with that messy blonde hair and shit-eating grin and call him a 'spoiled little ponce', and then they would both go back to what they were doing in companionable silence.)

From the first moment that he and Walter had stepped foot from the Hobbe-infested railway, breathing in the repugnant stench of the air, Tristan had decided then and there that he quite disliked Mourningwood. So far, everywhere they had been had held a certain charismatic atmosphere; the Dweller Camp had been jovial and exciting after assuring Brightwall's assistance, and Brightwall itself had been, as Jasper had put it, 'a charming little hamlet' nestled far from the influence of Bowerstone. Mourningwood, however, held about as much charm as the Prince's left sock, and since the said sock now had a lovely hole in it, well... That charm practically totaled to zero.

Walter had been quite excited as they trudged through the muck, going on about the individuals that they would be meeting - _who would want to live here?_ \- and how valuable of allies they would be. Despite his honest desire to share in the Knight's genuine excitement of making more allies to assist in overthrowing Logan, Tristan couldn't get over the fact that he was exhausted, covered in Hobbe blood, and in desperate need of a bath and some sleep. Regardless, they had found the Fort, and the brigade that was unfortunate enough to call the place 'home', and with it, Major Swift and Captain Ben Finn.

"Aren't the talkative kind, are you mate?"

The question caused the Prince to stiffen, brows furrowing and jaw tightening as he turned his head to regard the man who had spoken. His look was met with _that_ grin.

"That's hardly a way of a greeting," the brunette responded, shifting where he had been seated near the Fort walls. For only a moment he stared, icy blue eyes locked on soul-searching blue before he looked away. " _Captain_." Honestly, the Prince wasn't in the mood for idle chit-chat.

The said blonde man gave a shrug of a shoulder, eyes glancing about before taking a step closer and promptly settling himself beside the Prince on the crumbling stone. "The men's words, not mine, although I'm somewhat entitled to agree. You haven't said one word since walking in here. What's a bloke to think?"

For a moment Tristan pondered the older man's question, then mimicked his earlier action and shrugged. "It's none of my concern what you and your brigade think."

Here, Ben ' _tsked_ ' under his breath as he wagged a finger in the air. "Ah, you spoiled little ponce, what _we_ think is _exactly_ your concern. You're here for us to follow you, aye? That type of attitude isn't going to win us into your favor."

A frown. "So you would rather favor my brother?"

"I'd _rather_ have nothing to do with any form of royalty. The fact that Walter says that you're a Hero is the only reason I'm sitting with you, and the only reason why I'm not kicking you out to feed the Hollowmen."

Ben's words were said bluntly, and they stung, but the Prince did his best to not let it show. He'd been met with enough hostility and distrust simply for being Logan's brother to almost be used to it, but… He wasn't. Idly he wondered if he ever would. Releasing a sigh, Tristan tilted his head back and regarded the Captain with a look.

"Thanks," he muttered, pretending to not hear the childish petulance in his own tone, "But I can promise you that I am _nothing_ like my brother."

Ben, in all his sarcastic glory, had the decency to grin _that_ grin. Oh, how the Prince was beginning to loathe that look. "I know," he responded casually, "I can tell, mate, I'm just messing. Logan wouldn't be bothered to come pay us a little visit, the bloody git, not that I want him to. He can bugger off and _rot_." With those words, that grin slowly faded into a far more somber expression, his gaze focusing on the ground in front of them. "We've been here for months, fighting the legions of the damned. Swiftie and I, we've… Well, we've had to bury a lot of good men."

There was a tone in Ben's voice that Tristan found he didn't like. It didn't suit him. Despite the fact that they were practically strangers, he could recognize and sympathize with the feeling of loss. Loss was an emotion he understood quite well. Ben went on.

"When we were first stationed here, it was only for a few weeks, or so our order said. Clear out the Hollowmen, secure the area, all that mess…" Already the Prince could see where this was going. The said young man's blue gaze traveled up from a mossy spot on the ground to stare intently at the blonde's face, noting the stubble upon his chin, the furrow in his brow when talking about something so unpleasant, and the scowl that marred his lips. "It was all a bloody lie, we think. That or they forgot about us. We haven't received any orders to pull out of Mourningwood yet, and I'm beginning to think we aren't going to. So, I bet you can understand my uncertainty of you being here, mate."

Tristan shifted uncomfortably, reminded once again that while he had been living in the lap of luxury, there were people out here, like Swift, like Ben, like Sabine and the Dwellers, like Samuel and the citizens of Brightwall, who struggled every day beneath the oppression that was the King of Albion. It made him sick.

"I'm sorry. Words… Words are hollow, I know, and I'm aware that my apology may mean very little, but I _am_ sorry. It isn't easy, losing someone dear to you…" _Not now_ , his mind whispered bitterly, determined to shut down that thought before it even started, _not right now. Later. Later._ Inhaling slowly, Tristan held onto that breath, lifting his eyes to watch Walter and Swift across the camp, watch as they spoke and joked with one another as old friends do. The soldiers milled around them, some resting, some preparing weapons for nightfall, some training… Come dawn tomorrow, Tristan wondered how many of the 'Swift Brigade' would be left.

"I also know that my coming here and asking for your help probably means very little. If I were in your shoes, I would react the same. I had no idea what was going on outside of the castle walls." Goodness, but his father would be ashamed. Come to think of it, the Prince was certain that his father would have quite liked Ben. "But I _promise_ , come tonight, you'll see that I mean what I say. I'll fight this 'legion of the damned' by the side of your brigade, and _then_ we can discuss joining together to stop Logan."

It was Ben's turn to shift, although he couldn't tell if it was due to the tender topic or the discomfort from sitting on the cold stone rubble for so long. The Captain hummed beneath his breath, seeming to mull it over before nodding. "Aye, you little ponce," he teased, that somber expression once more replaced by _that_ grin, and oddly enough Tristan was relieved to see it. "I suppose we will."

* * *

Well, after a few years of writing nothing (which I apologize for), I'm back. Fable is, and always will be, a deep love of mine, and after moving states, attending college, getting engaged to the love of my life (who happens to be my lovely beta), and planning a wedding, I'm hoping to get back into the field of writing.

(If anyone has any suggestions of little 'moments', please feel free to send them my way! Fodder is always welcome.)

Please read, review, and enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Moments – Two

Disclaimer: Fable I, II, and III, their associated characters, and locations belong to Lionhead Studios. I am in no way making a profit from this writing, other than gaining satisfaction from hopefully improving my skills as a would-be author.

Notes: I have taken some creative liberty with the set up of the Lodge and its surrounding area. Enjoy!

Summary: When a scouting through Mistpeak does not have its desired results...

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Two –

"Oi," the Prince barked, doing his best to keep a hold on Ben's wrist, "Stop moving or I'm just going to lob your whole arm off, you bloody git."

The blonde Captain groaned in dismay but stopped fighting the younger man, slouching further into his seat as the Prince gently held his arm to examine the wound. "You aren't the one with a damn bullet in your arm!"

Tristan's blue eyes rolled. "Shut _up_ , Ben. If you hadn't been kicking up a fuss I would've gotten the bullet out by now."

The day had started out simple enough; check in on the Dwellers in the mountains and ensure that they were doing alright with Brightwall's help. It had been from them that the two had caught wind of a troupe of bandits roaming the woods by the lake, creating a ruckus and making life generally unpleasant for any passing travelers, and determined to nip the problem in the bud before things could escalate the Prince and the Captain had gone to take care of it.

What neither of them had anticipated, however, was that while they would defeat the said bandits, Ben would receive a bullet in the bicep for his trouble.

"Do you got any ale in this place?" Ben asked, brows furrowed as he hissed between his teeth with every probe of the finger from the Prince's gentle inspection.

The brunette royal nodded his head, blue eyes focused on the bleeding bullet hole before he released Ben's arm to stand. "Do I ' _have_ any ale in this place', Benjamin, and I do, somewhere… Always used it for disinfectant, though." Because ale wasn't something that he tended to indulge in. "Who knows if it's still good." For disinfectant purposes, anyway, not ingesting, although he had the sinking suspicion that Ben wouldn't agree.

After taking care of the bandits and discovering Ben's predicament, the two had trudged their way from the base of the mountain to the Lodge that Tristan called home. Arriving half-frozen, thanks to a midday snow that settled in, and somewhat woozy from blood loss, the blonde soldier had practically collapsed into a chair while Tristan had set to work making a fire in the hearth. Only after the fire was roaring did he pull up his own chair beside the Captain, assist in removing his jacket and shirt, and got to work examining the wound.

"Stop being all _princely_ and just get me the bloody ale, Tristan." The older man's words caused the said Prince to chuckle, and with a shake of his head he ventured to the cabinets and began to trifle through them in search for the bottle in mention. It was only after he had found the ale and gathered a few rags along with a needle and thread did he return to his seat.

Uncorking the bottle, Tristan took Ben's wrist in his hand once again. "This will probably burn," he stated, and then slowly began to pour the liquid over the wound. Ben sucked in a sharp breath, wincing and nearly jerked his arm free, but remained mindful and allowed the Prince to disinfect the wound as properly as could be.

When the bottle was set aside, however, Ben wasted little time in grasping it with his free arm and chugging down a few gulps.

Tristan rolled his eyes once more before focusing on his task. Maybe a slightly intoxicated Ben would make this easier in the long run. What followed next was a litany of curse words and damnations as the brunette set about digging the offending bullet from the Captain's bicep, dropping it onto the wooden table top once it was free, and taking the half-full bottle of ale from Ben's hand and pouring it once more over the wound.

Ben groaned and cursed his descendants for years to come.

"Shut _up_ , Ben, or by Avo I'll just shove the bullet back in there and kick you out into the snow." Maybe he wouldn't, but surely the blonde wouldn't call his bluff.

"No you won't," Ben stated, a slight slur to his words and Tristan sighed. Who knew if that was from the liquor or the blood loss. Maybe both. "You're too _kind_ and _noble_ and _just_. And whatever else it is the ladies of Brightwall keep callin' you."

Deciding not to comment any further until he was done, Tristan focused on finishing up. He cleaned the needle and sewed the wound shut, yet another affair which left Ben cursing his name, then bandaged it loosely enough to allow the wound some air. He would check it again before bed, then in the morning. Surely the soldier had experienced worse during his lifetime.

"There," Tristan stated on an exhale, releasing the Captain's arm and pushing himself up to his feet, "I'm done. I think you're going to live."

Ben flexed his hand and moved his arm about, wincing when it became too much and then settled back into his chair. "Thanks, mate." It was then that the Captain's vivid blue eyes took in the surroundings of the lodge, the elegant simplicity of it all, and the lack of personal touch. "So this is where you live, huh? You don't entertain a lot, do you?"

Tristan shook his head, collecting up the bloodied rags and the bullet to properly dispose of. "Not often, no." _Never_ , was more like it, but he wasn't about to tell Ben that. He wasn't exactly a social butterfly. "Not a lot of people want to climb a mountain just to see where I live." That was also more or less true, as long as he didn't mention how he never invited anyone. Aside from Walter and Jasper, Ben was the first to see his 'humble abode'.

"Huh," Ben muttered, finally finishing with the close scrutiny of the Prince's home and directing that soul-searching gaze back to the brunette, "Well, it's nice enough, I reckon. Warm and cozy and a hell of a lot fancier home than I've ever had. Got an extra bed?"

Tristan offered the Captain a sidelong glance. "I _have_ an extra bed, yes."

"Semantics, love," Ben stated while waving his hand in the air, as though waving away the Prince's comment. Tristan did his best to ignore the endearment and instead tossed the rags and bullet into the waste basin.

"Does this mean you're inviting yourself into my home for the night?"

Ben shrugged, then cursed with a wince from pulling the stitches. "Yup, I sure am. I already called you on your bluff about kicking me out into the snow. Surely you wouldn't ignore the plight of your most _loyal_ soldier?"

"There's a barn out back. I doubt the horses would mind the company."

Ben huffed, shit-eating grin nowhere to be seen. "Don't be like that, Tristan."

The Prince heaved a breath and turned back around to face the blonde. No, he wasn't going to kick the soldier out to sleep in the barn, but having him in the house would be odd. Tristan wasn't used to guests, even those he knew as well as he was getting to know Ben, but what was the worst that could happen? It wasn't like he and Ben had never shared sleeping quarters before...

"Alright, alright. There's a second bedroom upstairs. It's a bit small, but it should work for the night."

Like clockwork, _that_ grin was back. With its return, the Prince's heart fluttered and his chest grew warm. He ignored it. "Brilliant, mate. Knew you were a keeper." That jovial expression was quick to slip once more into something far more concerned, and Tristan was startled that the man's face could go from one look to another with such fluidity. "Ah, but… Another question for you, Tristan."

The Prince nodded, brows furrowing in concern. "Yes, Ben?"

"When's dinner?"

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Notes: Well, an update a day after posting? That's positively unheard of for me! I have so many ideas for this project of mine, and I hope you'll all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. You'll also notice that even though I put the pairing of BenxPrince in here, it'll take some time to get to.

Still, please read, review, and be merry! And to those who celebrate it, Happy Thanksgiving from myself and my Dur (aka, my Beta and Fiancee)! Eat lots of food for us!

Best regards 3


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